What Price Vision?
by Miskcat
Summary: Several vignettes exploring the speculative possibilities of what might happen when Roy goes to the Gate to try to regain his vision.
1. Scot Free?

This is the first of a series of vignettes in which I speculate on several possible things I could imagine happening when Roy goes to the Gate to try to get his sight back.

**Scot Free?**

_Tap tap tap tap tap_.

Riza glanced at one of the desks across the room, where Falman's fingertips had been tapping on its surface for the past fifteen minutes. He seemed immersed in the contents of an official file, but she hadn't seen him turn a page, the whole time the file had been open.

Nearby, Breda reclined with his feet on his own desk, having given up even the pretense of working, a mere ten minutes after the Colonel had clapped his hands in the center of the room and vanished in a flare of blue light. That had been – Riza glanced at her watch – almost thirty minutes ago. Meanwhile, Fuery paced back and forth, back and forth in front of the office door, while Havoc, at the desk beside her, turned himself round and round in his wheelchair.

"I wonder how much longer he'll be," Breda muttered, flipping a pencil absently between his fingers.

_Tap tap tap tap tap_.

"What if something's gone wrong?" Fuery burst out, as though Breda's comment had given him leave to do so. "It's been half an hour. Shouldn't he be back by now?"

"I imagine this is something that requires careful negotiation," Riza responded. Though really, she had no idea what Roy would need to do at that Gate of his, to get his vision back.

"Isn't a philosopher's stone supposed to streamline the process?" Breda wondered. One of his feet, crossed at the ankles, had begun to jiggle.

"It didn't with Ed," Fuery reminded him, taking off his glasses and absently polishing them on his uniform sleeve. "Ed still had to give something up in the end, to get his brother back. That really worries me. What if the Colonel has to give up something else, to get his eyes back?"

_Tap tap tap tap tap._

"That bothers me too," Breda agreed. "He might be able to see again, but what else is he going to lose? If he even frees himself from the Gate. It's been half an hour – I wish he'd get back–"

"There's still time," Riza reminded him.

"But not much," he countered. "We've got that meeting with Grumman and General Armstrong in just a few minutes. If Mustang can't walk in there and show them he's still fit to be in the military–"

_Tap tap tap tap tap._

"Dammit, Falman!" Havoc burst out, whirling his chair, leaning forward, and slapping his hands on his desktop. "If you don't stop that infernal tapping I might just have to break your fingers!"

Falman looked up with a jerk, clenching both hands on top of the file. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't realize – sorry."

Havoc leaned back and sighed, his shoulders slumping. "No. Forget it. I'm sorry. I'm as worried about him as everyone else, and I shouldn't take it out on–"

"_Something's happening!_" Fuery exclaimed, jamming his glasses back on.

Just as he yelled, the flash of blue light that had burst into being in the center of the room swelled in size and intensity until it was so strong that they had to cover their eyes. But Riza sprang to her feet, even so, one hand over her face and the other groping before her as she moved around her desk, jabbing a corner of it against her hip as she staggered. The light was already beginning to fade as she drew close, but even then she almost tripped over Roy, barely able to see him as she tried to blink away the light spots in her eyes.

He was crouching on one knee on the floor, the other foot planted so he could rest an elbow on the other knee. As Riza's vision slowly cleared, she, too, went to one knee at his side, and found his arm and gripped it. "Colonel," she managed, still blinking furiously, trying to see him clearly. "Are you all right? What happened at the Gate?"

"Sir, I'm so glad you made it back!" Fuery blurted, as the other four men encircled them, Havoc wheeling his chair quickly around from behind his desk. "We were beginning to worry."

"How – how long did it take?" Roy asked, gasping a little. "On this side, I mean?" Riza could now see his fingers rubbing across his eyes, brows drawn together under his unruly fringe of hair.

"Half an hour, sir," she said, forcing herself not to try to peer at his eyes.

"So the time is similar. Or it was this time, anyway." He took a deep breath, now pressing the back of his hand across his forehead. "Still…that was tiring. I'm all out of breath."

"Shall I help you up, sir?" Riza asked. She couldn't see his eyes. And she didn't dare ask.

"Yes, thanks."

Riza pulled the Colonel's arm around her shoulders and took his weight as he got to his feet with a grunt. He pulled his arm free, hunching and lowering his shoulders, turning his head from side to side as though to loosen his neck. And still she couldn't–

"Colonel Mustang, are you going to leave us in suspense or are you going to tell us?" Breda demanded. "What happened? Did it work? Can you see?"

Roy stopped working at his neck, and lowered his hand. He cast a droll glance at Breda. "Why yes, lieutenant, as it happens, I can see you. And your unbuttoned shirt." When he looked back at Riza, his eyes – his dark, beautiful, _seeing_ eyes – held only humour and reassurance.

Breda didn't even flinch or make a move to button his shirt. Instead he broke into a grin as a sigh of relief seemed to whoosh through the room.

"Well, that's great, then," Havoc laughed. "Everything's going to be fine, after all."

"Yes it is," Roy agreed.

"But wait," Fuery said. "What did you have to do to get your eyes working again?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well – even when Ed went to the Gate with a philosopher's stone – or I guess he _was_ a philosopher's stone at the end – he still had to give something up. Did you?" Fuery seemed to feel he needed to rush his questions, as though he might not get another chance. Or have the nerve a second time. "Did you have to make that kind of bargain? Or settle for your eyes not working like they did before? Or–"

"Kain, calm down," Roy chuckled. He turned and put his hands on the younger man's shoulders, seeming to make a point of looking directly into Fuery's eyes. "There's nothing to worry about," the Colonel said. "I mean it. Everything's fine. I can unequivocally guarantee that my eyes are going to work perfectly for the rest of my life. So really – everything is fine, and is going to stay that way. All right?"

Fuery smiled, eyes wide and happy behind his glasses. "I'm so glad, sir. I'm really glad."

"Now then." Roy turned and looked at each of them, one after the other, as he straightened his collar, pulled at his cuffs, and wiped a couple of stray pieces of lint from his uniform. "I believe we have a meeting to go to, don't we?"

"And just in time," Breda snorted.

"Indeed. So let's get going, shall we?" Roy headed for the office door as Falman and Fuery parted to let him pass them. He placed a hand on the knob, and–

"Colonel Mustang!"

Roy stopped. "What is it, Lieutenant Hawkeye?" he asked without turning around.

"Just how long is 'the rest of your life'?"

The others looked at her, Breda's eyebrows jumping up almost into his hairline.

"I beg your pardon, lieutenant?" Roy said.

"You said, sir," she replied as coolly as she could around her suddenly pounding heart, "that your eyes would work perfectly for the rest of your life. I just want to know how long that will be."

Falman looked from one to the other in consternation. Fuery stared white-faced at Riza as though she had suddenly changed into something terrible before his eyes. At her side, Havoc was whispering, "Damn damn damn," under his breath.

At last Roy half-turned toward her, his hand still on the doorknob. He gave her a wry smile. "Why Hawkeye," he said quietly, "you know nobody can say how long their life will be. We just need to live each moment we have to the fullest, don't you agree? And speaking of that – we really do have a meeting to get to, and we can't waste a minute. Let's go into the Fuhrer's office and give General Armstrong the shock of her life, shall we?"

He turned the knob, opened the door, and stepped through it into the hallway outside. Riza could hear his footsteps echoing as he started to walk, without anyone to hold his arm and guide him, for the first time in two months.

"Well, let's get going. And lieutenant Breda, you will need to button that shirt before we arrive at the Fuhrer's office," Riza commanded, stepping toward the door. She paused only for a brief moment at Fuery's side, meeting his troubled eyes. "Now we know," she said, and went through the door.


	2. What Doth it Profit a Man?

_What doth it profit a man if he gains the whole world, but loses his soul?_

Riza pushed open the side door of the small warehouse, noting with approval that the faint light from inside barely extended beyond the pavement where she and Roy stood. It wasn't absolutely crucial that tonight's activities be kept secret, but it would still be better if they weren't disturbed until they were finished.

"Just step straight ahead a few paces, sir," she instructed. Roy obeyed, walking into the entry chamber, leaving enough room for her to slip in behind him. Shutting the door, she took hold of the man's arm and led him through the doorway into the large storage area in the back half of the warehouse.

Falman and Breda had found the abandoned place, and Fuery had arranged for lanterns, since there was no power in the building. He himself hadn't arrived yet, but the other two had arranged the lanterns in a circle on the bare concrete floor, and were almost finished lighting them.

Havoc, meanwhile, who was still in his chair, only just having begun his healing work with a small portion of the Philosopher's Stone that Roy had reserved for it, had arranged for sandwiches.

Roy burst out laughing at the announcement, oblivious to the light gradually spreading around him as the lamps were lit. "So you think we're going to need a lot of nourishment tonight, do you, Jean?"

Havoc chuckled. "Well, it can't hurt. Who knows how long it'll take?"

Riza walked to the centre of the lit circle, footsteps echoing across the cold floor, and Roy went with her, a hand on her shoulder. As she reached the chair in the middle, beside the table laden with sandwich fixings, she took the Colonel's hand and placed it on the back of the chair. "You can sit here, sir," she told him.

For a moment he put his hand back on her shoulder. "Thank you," he murmured. "For everything. For being my eyes and more, the last couple of weeks." His fingers found a few tendrils of her hair and twined themselves in them.

Riza smiled, her cheeks shading to a light pink as Havoc grinned at her. "I'm just doing my job," she answered lightly.

"Oh, much more than that," Roy smiled. "and I learned a few things, down there in the tunnels. Things are going to be different for us," he added softly, "as soon as I get this business over with. I promise."

Before she could reply, he reached again for the chair back, and manoeuvred himself around the chair so he could sit down. "Any sign of Fuery yet?" he wondered.

"Still at the hospital, as far as I know." Breda straightened up, the last lantern lit on his side of the circle. The light from below cast heavy shadows from his cheeks to cover his eyes.

"I hope he brings good news about Alphonse," Roy remarked, oblivious to the ghoulish appearance of his subordinate.

"He said Ed sounded pretty positive when he called."

Roy nodded. Alphonse's condition had been a constant worry for all of them in the two weeks since the fall of Fuhrer Bradley and the saving of the country. Al's restored body had been so frail that its systems had almost immediately begun trying to shut down. The thought that the boy might finally have come out of his coma had been exciting enough that Roy had despatched Fuery off to the hospital to get news.

"So Colonel." Havoc edged his chair closer, one of the small wheels ringing as it moved. "How about a little refreshment while we wait?"

"Why not?" Roy chuckled. "Can't let your catering go to waste. Riza, will you make me something?"

She paused, eyebrows raised. Getting this man to accept help with anything in the last two weeks had sometimes been a monumental task. But Havoc flashed her a wink. "Better grab your chance, Hawkeye," he said. "The Colonel's not going to be this helpless again for a long time."

"Havoc…," Falman chided, his own lanterns now fully lit.

"Oh, don't worry about Jean," Roy chuckled again. "I'm as helpless as he is, so he can get away with it. For another hour or so, anyway."

Riza quickly took a small plate and put together a sliced chicken sandwich with all the fixings (except pickles; Roy wasn't fond of those), and by the time she set the plate at his left hand, the others had descended on the rest of the sandwich supplies.

"Thank you," Roy said, as she placed his hand on the finished product. He took a bite or two and listened as the others worked their way around the table, putting their own refreshments together.

"Colonel," Falman wondered, as he settled on a chair across the circle, "what exactly is going to happen when you get back to the Gate?"

Roy crossed one ankle over the other knee, setting his plate on it, unaware of Hawkeye's glance of alarm at its precarious position. "One of two things are likely to happen," he said, swallowing another bite of sandwich. "The Gate could simply reject my attempt to get my sight back. In which case…" He shrugged. "Or it could give me what I ask for. That's what I'm expecting, since I've got the stone. But that's when it could get tricky."

Falman frowned. "What do you mean?" He began a methodical journey of bites across the leading edge of his sandwich.

"It's this whole business of equivalent exchange," Roy explained. "Even with the stone…well, I may not have enough to exchange. There's always a price. Look what Ed gave up, to get Al back completely."

His four companions watched him as he took another bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly, a thoughtful frown on his face as his empty eyes seemed to stare at the far wall. It had been so hard getting used to the blankness in his gaze, the past two weeks. It would be so good to see that direct stare focused on them again. If it could be done without putting him in jeopardy.

It was Falman, of course, who asked the question they were all afraid to ask. "What if the price is too high, sir?"

Roy swallowed his bite of sandwich, his head swivelling toward the sound of the other man's voice. "Then I'll stay as I am," he said. His tone dropped lower as he set his food back onto the plate. "But remember this, Falman – all of you. We're still in crisis. It's going to take a while to clean up the chaos in the country, and re-establish a viable government. This is the best chance we have to try to direct the government away from military rule and make it more democratic. Unfortunately, I don't think General Armstrong sees it that way. And if I'm kicked out of the military because I'm blind, I lose whatever clout I've got in the cleanup and reorganization. I basically lose everything we've all worked for, all these years." He picked up the sandwich again. "So frankly, there are very few prices I'll consider too high, to get my sight back. And whatever I have to pay – whether it's a limb, like Ed paid, or some other physical thing – the situation in the country right now is too important _not_ to pay it. Almost any price will be acceptable. Remember that." And he took another bite.

Breda finished off his own sandwich, watching the Colonel in silence. Riza and Havoc shared a long look until Havoc shrugged and gave her a small, encouraging smile. She nodded with a tight smile of her own, and finished eating her own meal. She wasn't sure she really had an appetite for it, but perhaps the communal ritual mattered more than other things right now. Whatever happened when Roy went to the Gate, they were all in this with him.

A few minutes later, he set his plate back on the table. "Well," he said, "I think I'll get started. I know Fuery isn't back yet, but I don't want to wait any longer. It's more important that he is where he is."

"Right," Breda said. "What do you need us to do? Anything?"

Roy stood up. "How about clearing the table and chairs out of the circle, and then standing back yourselves? I know I don't need to draw an array any more, but just in case anything 'spills over', I'd prefer you all to be at a safe distance."

Riza moved Roy's chair outside the lantern circle as the others removed theirs, but she returned to his side as Falman and Breda carried the table away between them. "What else do you need?" she asked. "I hate to leave you standing here all alone."

Again he set a hand on her shoulder, his thumb lightly rubbing against her neck. "I'm afraid that's how this has to be done," he said. "Alone." He turned a warm smile toward her, and his voice lowered. "But when it's done, and I've come back," he murmured, "I want you right there with me. I want your face to be the first thing I see when open my eyes."

Riza set her hand over his, the pulse in her neck beating heavily under his hand. "I'll be here," she whispered. "Nothing could ever prevent that."

Roy nodded and drew back. Even without any expression in his eyes, his companions could see his attention shifting. His jaw tightened and his brows lowered, as he began to prepare himself for the upcoming task. He pulled the red stone out of his pocket as Riza began to back away. "Stay right in front of me," he reminded her, "so I can see you."

"I'll be here, sir," she assured him, stepping back between two of the lanterns directly in front of him.

Havoc had wheeled his chair to position himself to Roy's left, while Breda and Falman stood to his right and behind him. "Good luck, Roy," Havoc said. "We're all with you."

"Thanks, everyone," Roy nodded. "I can't tell you how glad I am that you're all here. Well." He squared his shoulders, the lantern light gleaming from the buttons on his uniform. "Might as well get this over with." He stuck the stone between his front teeth to free his hands, and at last brought his palms together. The sharp clapping sound reverberated off the walls as a brilliant glow sprang into being and enveloped his form. Seconds later, the glow vanished, leaving his four subordinates blinking around the bright spots in their eyes. It was evident to all of them that Roy, too, had vanished.

"So," Breda said, rubbing his hands along the sides of his pants, "what do we do now?"

"We wait, of course," Havoc answered. "I forgot to ask how long he thought this would take."

"Maybe he didn't know, anyway," Riza offered from her side of the circle. She still hadn't taken her eyes from the spot where Roy had stood. "Maybe time doesn't move in the same way at the Gate."

"Well, I hope it doesn't take too long," Breda said. "The longer it takes, the more likely it is that something's going wrong."

The talk died away and they fell briefly silent, each one of them in his or her individual quadrant of the circle. And they waited. And waited. None of them dared to check their watches; they seemed to recognize that they'd discover that it had only been two minutes since Roy had disappeared, even if it felt like twenty. But all four of them stared at the spot in the centre of the circle as though their concentration would bring Roy back sooner than otherwise.

Falman shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Maybe we can have another sandwich while we wait," he suggested. The table with its goodies had been moved behind him when it was taken from the circle. He himself made no move toward it, however.

Breda grimaced. "I don't really feel like eating right now."

"Well, that's a first," Havoc grinned across the circle at him.

"Very funny."

Again the silenced stretched out, almost tangibly, as they waited for some change in the circle. Somewhere in the empty building, they heard a light pop, as though a wooden beam were responding to the cooling temperatures in the night outside. A light wind hissed through a slightly open window high up in the wall behind Riza. It hadn't been entirely warm in here to start with, and it seemed the warehouse might get even colder if they stayed too long. At the moment, though, the heat from the lanterns was providing a balance to the lowering temperatures.

After several moments, it was again Falman, in an unexpectedly talkative frame of mind, who broke the silence. "I wonder…," he mused. "Maybe we should have brought something to prepare for…whatever the Colonel might have to lose in exchange for his sight."

Riza frowned across the circle at him, biting her lip, and Breda demanded, "Like what?"

Falman shrugged uneasily. "I don't know. A tourniquet, maybe. Another wheelchair. I don't know."

"That wouldn't be good," Havoc said. "The last thing we need is two of us in wheelchairs."

"Well," Falman shrugged. "After he mentioned Ed and his lost limbs, I just…wondered. Maybe we'll need to get him to a hospital."

"It's not too far," Riza said. "And we have two vehicles. I'm sure he won't allow a choice that puts him in such a desperate situation."

"If he's given the choice," Breda remarked. "He wasn't when the Gate took his eyes."

"He didn't have the stone then," Havoc reminded him.

"Right. That probably makes a difference."

"As though we really know anything about it," Falman muttered under his breath.

Again the silence, broken only by the faint whispering wind past the upper window, and the creaking sound as one or the other of them shifted their feet. When the outside door banged open and Fuery rushed in, his hair all over the place from the wind, four heads turned quickly toward him as though in gratitude for the interruption. The young man took everything in with a sweeping glance.

"He's already started, hasn't he?" This, shrugging off his overcoat and dropping it in a folded pile on the floor. "I hoped I wasn't that late. I wanted to wish him luck."

"Everything okay at the hospital?" Havoc asked.

"It's better than okay," Fuery beamed. "Al isn't just awake, but he's ravenous. It looks like his body's decided to live, and now he wants to eat everything in sight. And he's not allowed, until they work their way up from mush to solid food. It could take days, maybe weeks." He laughed. "It was so funny, listening to Ed trying to be the reasonable brother, and Alphonse grumbling."

Havoc chuckled. "It's a shame we had to miss that. Can't wait to see it for myself."

"The Colonel will be glad to hear about this," Falman said.

"How long has he been…well, gone?" Fuery asked, patting down his hair.

Breda snorted. "I think we've all been scared to look at our watches. It feels like hours."

"I'm sure it's just been a few minutes," Riza added. "But it's starting to feel like he's been gone forever." She frowned. "I hope everything's going well."

"Are those sandwiches?" Fuery exclaimed. "I didn't have any supper – I'm _starving_!" He rushed over to the table behind Falman, grabbed a plate, and began throwing a quick sandwich together for himself.

"Hold your horses, there," Havoc laughed. "It's not like the food's going anywhere."

"I'm sure I'm not as hungry as I think I am," Fuery agreed cheerfully, not slowing his pace in any way. "It's probably the effect of listening to Al grumbling about food for the past hour. I'm still going to eat, though."

As Falman turned and began to chat with him, munching idly on a pickle, Riza and Havoc exchanged another smiling glance. But almost immediately, a wave of static jolted through the room, tickling across the skin and threatening to lift the hair from their heads. The floor in the center of the circle burst into a bright white glow, but this time, Riza had the presence of mind to snap her eyes shut. When the glow began to shade to a light pink and then to a dull red, at least that meant her vision was protected from the worst of it. And as the light finally faded altogether, she saw that the Colonel had reappeared, down on one knee, one hand on the floor for support and the other pressed to his bowed head.

All of the conversation cut off instantly. Riza rushed forward, heart pounding, and crouched in front of Roy. The fringe of his hair stuck out under his hand and obscured his eyes. She couldn't see – and she wasn't sure whether she should ask –

And when he slowly lifted his head and lowered his hand, and she saw the tears streaking the cheeks below his closed eyes, her throat closed and she was no longer even capable of asking.

Finally she managed to breathe tightly, "Colonel?" A pause. "Roy…?"

He turned his head. And his eyes flew open, staring directly at Havoc. "Lieutenant Havoc," he said crisply. "Report."

Havoc's smile died on his face as he looked from Roy to Riza and back again, his lips silently repeating the word. _Report?_ He cleared his throat. "Well, uh…nothing has changed since you left. Sir. That is…" His shoulders hunched a little under the cold, piercing stare. His eyes darted to the side. "Well, there _is_ good news from the hospital."

"That's right, sir," Fuery smiled, stepping closer, one hand full of sandwich. "Alphonse is awake, and it looks like he's going to be all right. He's got a long road ahead of him, but that will only – "

"Thank you, Master Sergeant, I get the picture."

"So what happened, Colonel?" Breda blurted. "Did it work?"

Roy stood in one movement and turned toward him, fixing that unblinking stare on his face in turn. "Clearly it did, Lieutenant Breda." Riza stood up behind him, watching the exchange.

"And – and did you have to – give up anything?" the other man plowed gamely on against the dark glare. "What happened at the…you know?"

"That's irrelevant, and none of your business. The important thing is that I've got my sight back, and we have work to do. Now that this is taken care of, I can keep working my way to the Fuhrer's office. We'll get started tomorrow. If Olivia Armstrong thinks she's going to get in my way, I plan to show her a few surprises. Meanwhile, Master Sergeant, Fuery…," the Colonel turned to face him.

"Y-yes, sir?" the young man faltered.

"While I realize it's marginally useful to know what happened to Alphonse Elric, you could easily have gained that information later. From now on, when our unit is engaged in a crucial operation, I expect you to be _here_, and not chasing after unimportant peripheral matters. Is that understood?"

Fuery's mouth dropped open. "But you…you sent me…"

"_Understood_, Master Sergeant?"

Fuery swallowed and straightened, his colour rising. "Understood, Colonel Mustang."

"Good. Now let's go. As I said, we have work to do."

As he turned on his heel as though to head for the door, Riza interrupted with a blunt, "Sir. Wait a minute."

He stopped where he was, his back to her. "_What?_" he demanded impatiently.

She took a breath. "When you first came back from the Gate…there were tears on your face. There still are. I think we need to know why."

He half turned toward her, lifting a hand to touch one of his cheeks, then pulling it away and staring at his fingers. Streaks of moisture still gleamed faintly on his skin in the flickering lantern light. Riza held her breath as he frowned in concentration, uncertainty flickering momentarily in those cold, cold eyes. Then he wiped the tears from his cheeks with a quick sweep of both hands. "Never mind. It was nothing significant. Let's not let ourselves become distracted again. It's time to go."

And once again the Colonel turned his back on Riza, striding from the room and through the outer door. His five subordinates stood in silence, looking at each other.

"'Marginally useful"?" Fuery breathed, his eyes wandering in bewilderment to the doorway, the sandwich forgotten in the hand hanging limp at his side.

"Hawkeye," Havoc said quietly, drawing her eyes to him. "We're in big, big trouble. Aren't we?"

She stared wide-eyed at his pale face, where two patches of fevered pink blotched his cheeks. She opened her mouth as though to answer, but could only shrug, her hands open helplessly at her sides. She turned and walked through the door after the Colonel, leaving the others to follow.


	3. All the Time in the World

_This story is only very slightly different in how it conceives the ending of the manga. Roy became Fuhrer almost right away, rather than having Grumman take the post and having to keep working his way up to it._

Hohenheim found him, as predicted, sitting on the grave of Maes Hughes, resting back against the headstone. Every line of his body appeared relaxed, from the arm dangling over one uplifted knee to the slightly curved line of his neck as he leaned the back of his head on the granite behind him. He'd laid his black summer jacket on the grass nearby, and had opened the top two buttons of his white shirt. He'd probably thrown away most of his ties by now.

A light breeze lifted the fringe of his black hair for a moment as Hohenheim, still unnoticed, observed him. But aside from that movement, he was the picture of motionless repose, his exotic dark eyes gazing fixedly at the neatly spaced rows of military headstones across from him. He didn't look a day older than when Hohenheim had last seen him five years ago, blind and wounded, after the defeat of the one known as Father.

But then, he wouldn't look older, would he?

Hohenheim stepped lightly on the grass, drawing closer, slinging his own jacket over his shoulder. "I'm glad you're still here," he said. "I thought I might have to go hunting for you."

In an instant, Roy Mustang was on his feet, surging up and stepping behind the grave marker as though instinctively trying to put it between them. His breath catching in his throat, he regarded the newcomer with wide, unbelieving eyes as he gave his head a single shake of refusal. "You!" he gasped. "This is – but you – you're dead!"

"Fortunately," the older man answered, his lips quirking up in a wry smile, "that's turned out not to be the case."

"But I – I saw your grave. They…buried you."

"I know. You can imagine how inconvenient that was, when I finally woke up."

He fell silent as Mustang suddenly leaned both hands on the top of the gravestone, bowing his head, eyes closed, as he took several slow, deep breaths to settle himself. "So," he managed after a moment, "even Father couldn't kill you, in the end." When he finally straightened, he had managed to compose himself again. Yet the pulse in the open "V" of his shirt revealed that he wasn't nearly as calm as he seemed.

"That's right," Hohenheim nodded. "It took a long time to recover – I thought Father might finally have done it – but I've been up and around for almost three years now."

"Ed and Al have never mentioned that."

"They didn't know. I transmuted my way out of the coffin and the grave, and took myself off to one of my other homes, to let myself recover. I didn't want them to see me like that. I only just went to see them again before I came here a couple of weeks ago."

A raised eyebrow. "So long? I can't imagine they were very pleased at having been left in the dark all this time."

Or, Hohenheim thought, not very pleased that he was alive at all? He considered Mustang for a moment. In the distance behind him, toward the road that ran to the east of the military cemetery, a couple of horns honked. "The boys were…surprised."

Finally a glint of humour broke through the other man's wariness and he laughed softly. "I can just imagine. And after Ed was finally reconciled to having found and then lost you, too."

"He wasn't as mad as I expected, once he realized it was a matter of my needing to recover from the battle. He understands everything now."

"He's a lot more reasonable these days," Mustang nodded. He moved back around to the front of the gravestone and sat on it, crossing his arms in front of him. "So," he asked casually, "are you just passing through? What have you been doing with yourself the last three years?"

Hohenheim answered, "I've been watching _you_, actually." He saw the pulse jump in Roy's throat, and sensed the effort it took not to look away. He had to admire how well the man kept himself under control. But then, Roy Mustang had been carefully hiding the most important thing about himself from everyone he knew, for the past five years. And surely he must suspect, by now, why Hohenheim was really here.

But if he did, he gave no indication. "Surely not," the man drawled. "There's nothing more dull than watching three years worth of bureaucracy."

Hohenheim said, "You've done an excellent job as Fuhrer. It's been far from dull. I was sorry I missed the little power struggle at the beginning, when you managed to garner enough support to take the position and prevent General Armstrong from having it. But I admire how you've pushed to establish a civilian Parliament and put the military under its supervision. I think there's little likelihood of Amestris backsliding into military rule now."

Mustang nodded, his eyes sweeping once again across the rows of gravestones in their quiet repose. "I needed to make sure the country was safe and there couldn't be any repeat of what happened under Bradley," he murmured. "Even Olivia Armstrong agrees with me now. And our new President and his Parliament have been governing well for the past year. So it was time to abolish the office of Fuhrer and step down. Which I did yesterday." Once again his eyes came to rest on Hohenheim's face. "But you already know that," he added quietly.

That was more like it. They were beginning to draw near to the heart of things, and it seemed Mustang would be the one to push them there after all. "Yes," the older man said. And waited.

The merest hesitation, and then, "Will you…tell me why you were watching me?"

Hohenheim smiled. "That's something _you_ already know."

Mustang averted his face and closed his eyes. Only a close observer would have seen his shoulders slump, just a little. "It's funny, actually," he said. "I spent all those years trying to trace you, before I met the boys. I didn't even know why, really. I just felt that I needed to talk to you for some reason. And now…here you are."

"And now here I am," Hohenheim agreed. "To your disappointment, I'm sure. You were actually rather hoping I was really dead, weren't you?"

A slight hitch of breath. "No! I mean…I…"

"It's all right. I know how hard this is. I've been through it myself, after all. But there's a lot we have to talk about, don't you think?"

The other managed a shrug. "You were right, before: you almost missed me. I'm leaving by train this evening."

"I suspected as much. Which means you said all your goodbyes to your friends yesterday?" At the younger man's hesitation, Hohenheim smiled narrowly. "I didn't think so."

Mustang swallowed, shutting his eyes again. "They think I'm leaving on a three-week vacation," he said, his voice faint. "I thought it was better not to tell them…"

"That you never intend to return," Hohenheim finished.

Mustang flushed, a light pink that crept up his throat to shade his pale cheeks. He tilted his head, his gaze slanted at Hohenheim's face from beneath his unruly dark hair. "Isn't that what _you_ did?" he demanded. "You more than anyone should understand this."

Hohenheim dropped his jacket on the grass and moved to lean against a headstone near that of Maes Hughes. "No," he said, "that is _not_ what I did. I told Tricia everything. She fully understood why I needed to be away for a while. She was going to explain it to the boys when they were old enough to understand. Neither of us had any idea that she would become ill and…leave them…as she did. When I came back, as I'd planned, well…you know what had happened in the meantime."

"Yes, I know all too well." Now the cracks were really beginning to show. Mustang – or Hohenheim imagined he should probably start calling him Roy, since they were going to spend a lot of time together – Roy clutched his arms across his chest as though trying to protect his heart. He added, "And that's exactly why I'm not going to create the same sort of situation for anyone else. I'm going to disappear and…not come back."

"Nonsense," Hohenheim countered firmly. "If I'd guessed what would happen, I'd have found a way not to leave at all. I'd have had those last years with Tricia. I might even have managed to heal her. That's a regret that I'm going to live with for the rest of my life…however long that ends up being. But I'm not letting you repeat my mistakes, Roy. I'd be determined to prevent that, even if Riza Hawkeye hadn't asked me to help you."

"Riza Hawkeye!" Roy exclaimed, standing bolt upright and whirling to face the other man. The temporary colour drained in a rush from his face. "What did you say to her? Tell me you didn't – didn't tell her anything." And at his companion's silence, he choked, as though his breath had been cut off, "You had no right. How _dare_ you – "

"Oh, calm down," Hohenheim retorted. "The woman loves you. I didn't have to tell her anything. She'd already guessed, probably about the same time you did, not long after you'd been to the Gate and gotten your sight back."

Roy stared at him in silence, the breath still coming heavy in his lungs. "But I…tried not to let on…"

"Well, she figured it out. She knows you better than she knows herself. And she's been making plans of her own ever since she realized." Hohenheim leaned his hands behind him on the stone and looked upward, contemplating the blue, cloudless sky. "I spent half of last night persuading her not to try to follow you as she'd planned. And she was the one who suggested I look for you here."

Roy continued staring for a long moment before he sank back against the headstone again. This time he bowed his head and buried his face in his hands. "Damn her. I just…I just thought I could protect her. Protect everyone."

"You don't protect them by running away from them," Hohenheim said gently. "And the quickest way for you to go insane is to cut yourself off from everyone you love."

"There are other ways to go insane," Roy muttered darkly. Again he lifted his head and contemplated the spread of graves all around him. Then he held his hands out in front of him and looked at them, back and front. "When I went to the Gate, to get my vision back," he said, "I had holes through both my hands, from Bradley skewering me to the ground. When I came back…," he spread his fingers wide and examined the backs a final time before bunching his hands into fists, "they were completely healed. No scars. The scars from wounds I got in Ishbal – even scars from scraping my knee when I was a kid – all gone."

"I know, Roy."

"And you don't think I need to protect the people I – my friends – from _that_? While they injure themselves over the years, or get sick, or even…die? While they look at me and all they see…"

"Do you seriously believe they would begrudge you what they saw?"

"They'd try not to." Roy rubbed his hands over his face with a dispirited sigh. "But it would get too hard for them, eventually. I don't want to put them in that position."

These youngsters were so shortsighted. But of course, Hohenheim reminded himself, they hadn't had the long years of experience yet, so they could hardly be blamed for that. "Well," he said, "it seems to me you have a choice. You can either cut yourself off from your friends forever – and believe me, that's an awfully long time, and once you've lost the years you could have had with them, you'll have many years to regret it – or you can spend those years with them, and cherish what you do have, and work things out. The way all people do, who love each other. The way Tricia and I tried to."

"But that didn't work," Roy retorted. Then had the grace to flush and look away, muttering, "Sorry, that was unkind."

"But you're right, it didn't work, in our case. But that happens in life, Roy. It's one thing to lose someone by accident, despite all your plans, the way it happened for us. But it's quite another thing to do it to yourselves deliberately."

Roy fell silent, and Hohenheim let him sit and think for a while. Despite having had five years to try to come to terms with what had befallen him, the younger man had always had something to distract him from his dilemma – until today. So of course he was going to need time. At least for the two of them, that was the one thing they had an endless supply of.

The sun had just passed noon. A few other people dotted the landscape, visiting distant graves, carrying sheaves of flowers in their arms. The military kept the grass of this cemetery tended to within an inch of its life, and it spread around them like a perfect carpet. In fact, from the aroma of fresh-cut grass, it had likely been mowed early this morning or late yesterday afternoon. Here and there, copses of trees with commemorative benches under them promised shade if the sun became too hot.

One could hardly have chosen a more appropriate place to contemplate both life and death. Though Hohenheim suspected that Roy's choice of location had more to do with his loss of Maes Hughes than with any sense of the apropos. Hughes would not be the last of his losses.

"I suppose," Roy said slowly, "you think I'm being really stupid."

"Of course not," Hohenheim answered. "You're new to this. You're dealing with it much the same way I did, in the beginning. But I don't want you to do this alone, as I did." He smiled at his companion. "A person doesn't realize, before confronting the Gate, that there could be side effects he hadn't planned on, that have nothing to do with why he went to the Gate in the first place. I, at least, had Father to concentrate on and keep me heavily occupied over the years."

"While I have…nothing." Roy turned his face away.

Then glanced up in surprise as Hohenheim leaned over and set a firm hand his shoulder. "You have everything," the older man told him. "And that's what I plan to teach you as we travel together." He chuckled as Roy's eyebrows rose in an unspoken question. "Yes, I'm going with you this evening. Miss Hawkeye gave me her train ticket."

The look on Roy's face might have been comical if it hadn't been for his weary eyes. But he managed a light laugh. "I can't believe this. So she was just going to turn up and surprise me?"

"That's what she said. She also said she expected to be arguing with you for several hours afterward."

Roy shook his head with a fond smile. "She really does know me," he murmured. But suddenly his gaze sharpened as his eyes darted back to Hohenheim's face. "Wait a minute. You mentioned 'side effects' of going to the Gate. But we're not the only ones who…"

Hohenheim regarded him soberly. "No. We're not." He straightened on the headstone, folding his arms across his chest. "I plan to talk to the boys when we get back, though I think Alphonse, at least, already suspects. But I thought they could wait another couple of years, while I'm travelling with you. That should make it slightly easier for you, at least. You're not going to be completely alone, no matter what else happens."

"No. I see that. And that…does make a difference. A very big difference."

"I hoped it would. And so," Hohenheim stood and picked up his jacket, "what do you say we get ready? We have some time before we leave. We can go somewhere and grab a bite to eat, if you like. I'm ravenous. Or we could go back and talk properly to your friends, and explain things to them."

Roy made no move to stand up, but regarded his companion's face with narrowed eyes. "You seem awfully sure I'm just going to follow you."

"Well, you don't have to, of course. But if you're ever going to learn how to handle your new situation, I think you'd be wise to learn from the only other person who's experienced it."

Roy laughed slightly. Already the stillness and tension were vanishing from his demeanor, as he began to let himself hope, probably for the first time in the past five years. "Of course you're right. And of course I'll go with you. I…I don't know how to thank you, actually. Things have been looking pretty bleak for a very long time." Finally he, too, stood up and bent over to retrieve his own jacket.

"Roy," Hohenheim said, "you don't have any concept – yet – of a 'very long time'." The other man rewarded him with a loud, spontaneous laugh, and he grinned back. Good. Very good. This wasn't going to be as difficult as he'd feared. "Now," the man said, turning to lead the way toward the gates of the military cemetery, "let's be on our way. We've got two years for me to teach you everything I can."

"And then what?"

Hohemheim smiled to himself and said over his shoulder, "And then I've promised Riza Hawkeye I'll bring you back to marry her." And was rewarded with another sort of sound altogether.


	4. I've Got Your Back!

"How much longer do you think he'll be?" Havoc wondered quietly.

Riza glanced over at him as he half-sat on the front edge of the Colonel's desk, arms folded. He stared, frowning, at the array that Armstrong had carefully drawn just a few minutes ago on the floor in the centre of Roy's office. To his left, he'd leaned the crutches he still needed while he was going through physiotherapy. And to his right, looming over both Havoc and the desk, Armstrong himself shifted from one foot to the other and murmured in reply, "The array is safe, Lieutenant, and Colonel Mustang knows what he's doing."

"I'm not so sure about that," Havoc shrugged, an unlit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, "but I suppose he'll be able to improvise if something goes wrong. I hope."

"I'm sure he will be," Riza nodded, keeping her private reservations to herself. They all knew that the Colonel was in uncharted personal territory here, but nobody needed reminding right now. She added, "I wonder if we should all get back to work instead of waiting in here. We really don't know how long we might wait."

It was almost a question as she looked to Armstrong again. He gave a rueful shrug. "I am sorry, Lieutenant Hawkeye, but I have no idea how long such an endeavour might take—"

His image wavered and blurred, and a tingling wave of heat surged up Riza's back, sweeping into her head until the room swirled. Even as she staggered forward, a hand instinctively groping before her, she heard Havoc's sharp cry, "Hawkeye!" and felt a strong arm encircling her shoulders. "Hang on, Lieutenant," Breda said in her ear. "Fuery's grabbing you a chair."

"Here you go, Lieutenant," came Fuery's voice, to her left. Riza blinked a couple of times and he swam into view, eyes wide with anxiety as he set one of the office's leather upholstered armchairs beside her.

Breda helped her turn and settle into it, and she gripped the arms tightly as she took a couple of steadying breaths. "I-I'm sorry," she said. "Thanks for this. I don't know what happened. I just got so dizzy, suddenly…" She turned her head from side to side, trying to clear it. She still felt a bit hot, but the sensation was already starting to diminish. Though she could really do without the itchy tingling all over the skin of back.

"If it was anybody but you," Havoc remarked from behind the chair, "I'd say the stress was getting to you."

Riza began to look behind her, but thought better of it. The dizziness hadn't quite gone yet. "I don't think I'm under any more stress than the rest of you. This is very odd."

"Here, Lieutenant." Falman stepped into view, proffering a half-full glass of water. Riza took it with a grateful nod, and took a couple of sips. "Thanks," she smiled. "That does help."

"And I think the Colonel is coming back," Armstrong put in. As every head turned toward the centre of the room, the array at last began to glow. And then, as the big man had predicted, Colonel Mustang himself appeared with a bright flash in the middle of it, hands clapped together in front of his chest, eyes tightly shut.

"Colonel!" Fuery exclaimed. "Thank goodness you made it back!"

"Is everything all right, sir?" Falman asked.

Roy's eyes snapped open as he smiled. "Yes," he said. "Don't worry everything's all right. But where is – " And his eyes focussed directly on Riza in her chair. In two strides he had reached it, going to one knee before her, peering into her face. "Hawkeye," he breathed. "Riza – are you all right? You're so pale."

She smiled at his concern, at the worry in his eyes – at the eyes that could so clearly see her – and touched his cheek briefly. "I'm fine," she said. "Just a dizzy spell, but everything's better now. You can see – and that's all that matters."

"Not quite all," he answered softly. "The last thing I wanted…" Roy stood abruptly and looked around. "Thank you all for waiting. As you can see, it worked. And that means we're all going to have a lot to do in the coming days and months. But today I think we've had quite enough. So why don't you take the rest of the day off? And I…," he looked down at Riza in the chair, "will drive Lieutenant Hawkeye home and make sure she puts her feet up."

And that was enough of _that_. Riza stood, ignoring some last vestiges of vertigo in the back of her head. "Sir, that's ridiculous," she said firmly. "Whatever it was, it's passed. I'd far rather get to work right now. We've already lost a lot of ground, with you out of commission for the past few days. Unless, of course, you yourself feel the need to rest."

She caught Breda's smirk out of the corner of her eye, but the Colonel didn't seem as amused. Instead, his brows drew together in a worried frown. "No, I don't need to rest," Roy shook his head, "but I do need to speak with you in private. So I'm going to drive you home, as I said. And no arguing, please. Breda – I assume there's a car available?"

"Of course. I can easily drive – "

"No, thank you. I'll drive it myself." At the silence that answered him, Roy looked around at the group and allowed himself a chuckle. "Look at you. I know you've been driving me everywhere for the past three weeks or so, but I _do_ remember how to do it. And I assure you, I can see as well as I ever did – maybe better. So relax, all of you. Go out and watch a movie or take a friend to dinner. Or if you really want to work instead, find a reconstruction project and help move some rubble or something. But I, meanwhile," he raised an eyebrow at Hawkeye, "am going to drive you home and we're going to have a chat. And that's an order."

Riza didn't know why he was making such a big issue of her dizzy spell, but she recognized that look in his eyes. She might have continued protesting, but the very fact that he even _could_ have that look in his eyes brought her such relief that she decided to let him have his way. This time.

"Very well," she agreed. "The rest of you might as well do as the Colonel says. I'm sure we can spend some time strategizing while I make sure his eyesight is a good as he claims. But _I_ will do the driving. Sir."

As the two of them walked toward his office door, "I'd really rather you didn't," Roy insisted. "If you've had a dizzy spell, you could have another while you're driving." He opened the door and ushered her through it.

"I told you I'm fine now," Riza maintained, preceding him through the outer office. "And I think you should have your eyes checked before you do anything like drive a car."

She opened the door of the outer office and paused. Before stepping through it, she heard Havoc say, from back in Roy's office, "Well, I see those two are back to normal."

Her eyes met Roy's. And the two of them burst out laughing.

As it turned out, the Colonel won that particular argument. Riza finally decided that rather than stand in the military parking garage arguing for the rest of the afternoon – and attracting attention to Roy's sightedness in a way that wasn't how they'd planned to reveal it – was simply counterproductive. So Riza slipped into the passenger seat without further comment. And had to live with her superior officer's smug smile all the way to her apartment.

When they finally arrived and entered her front hallway, Riza tossed her keys into the tray on the small table in the hall, and left Roy to shut and lock the door behind him. "Can I get you some tea, sir?" she asked.

"Please," he agreed, and followed her through her living room and into the kitchen. As she turned the heat on under the kettle, and measured the tea leaves for the pot, he wandered around the room, picking things up and looking at them before setting them down again. At one point, he murmured, "You just don't realize what you have until you lose it for a while. Everything looks the same, and yet…different."

"I can only imagine," Riza nodded, setting a couple of her mother's teacups and saucers on the table. "I'm glad you found a way to bright your sight back."

"I was already thinking of ways I could do what I needed to, even if I couldn't get it back," he nodded. "But yes. I'm glad there was a way, too." He stepped to the window and pulled the lace curtain aside, to let in the late afternoon sunlight. He gave her a fond smile from across the room. "You cut your hair," he said. "That was quick."

Riza's hand moved involuntarily to her head before she willed it down again. "I just felt it was time for a fresh start. Don't you think so?"

"Oh yes. And," another smile and a slightly different tone of voice, "it looks very nice. I think I like it better short."

This time she felt the heat in her cheeks, but ignored it and busied herself with the teapot. She remarked, "And by the way, don't worry about anything else. I'm sure you're right, and I just need to rest. Tomorrow I'll be good as new, and we can start working on the next phase of things."

"Yes. Well." He let the curtain drop back into place. "That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Good. I told them we could do some strategizing today—"

"No, Riza. No, not that. I meant…I need to talk to you about that dizzy spell."

Riza tossed the filled tea ball into the pot and set the lid down perhaps a bit too firmly. "I don't understand why everyone is so bothered by it," she grumbled. "I just got busy and skipped lunch, and felt a little weak while we were waiting. That's all."

"No. That's not it at all." Roy turned from the window and faced her, all trace of a smile gone from his newly-seeing eyes. "I actually know why you had the dizzy spell. And…you're not going to like the reason."

Her hands stilled on the pot. Slowly she tilted her head sideways and looked at him. "What do you mean? How could you possibly know? Unless…it had something to do with your journey to the Gate."

"It…" He took a deep breath. "It has to do with paying a price for what one asks for at the Gate. Ed learned the same thing. Even if you have a Philosopher's Stone to smooth the way…there's still a price of some kind, if your request is to be granted."

The pot was a creamy white, with small pink flowers painted around the lid and down the handle. Her mother had gotten it from her grandmother. And now it seemed to be an anchor for Riza's suddenly cold hands. Whatever faint hints of dizziness still remained, she would _not_ allow her knees to buckle. "So…there was a price," she managed to say calmly. "And somehow…it has something to do with me."

"Yes."

"I think you'd better tell me, then."

Another pause, and he lowered his eyes to the floor. "Actually, I think…you'd better find a mirror and look at your back."

Her head whipped up and she whirled to face him, the teapot at last forgotten. "No," she whispered, her heart sinking. "You can't mean…"

And the look on his face sent her running down the hallway leading out of the kitchen, casting off her military jacket, stumbling into the bathroom to crash with a jerk against the vanity and sink. Ripping her shirt open and letting the shoulders fall down to her elbows, she turned around and craned her neck, peering over her shoulder, trying to see –

It was there. All of it. The entire array, the secret of flame alchemy, even the part that she'd had him burn away so the most deadly form of alchemy there was would die forever with him – the array gleamed from her back as it had done since her father had imprinted it there in her teen years. Every line, every swirl, every symbol – fully intact.

And beyond her image in the mirror, Roy Mustang – the Flame Alchemist – stood watching her from the doorway. "No, no _no!_" Riza cried, shrugging the shirt back onto her shoulders. She turned from the image and lunged at the real man, her fists beating at his chest. "How could you do this? _How could you do this?_"

"Riza – please listen—"

"After everything that's happened – everything _you've done_ – how could you let this happen? How could you open the door to let this awful power back into the world? _How could you?_" She felt his hands reaching for her, and backed away until she bumped against the vanity. Pointing an accusing finger at him, she shouted, "You've betrayed everything I thought we both believed in! You've betrayed _me!_ I trusted you – and you've betrayed me!"

Roy winced. "No, I swear that's not how it happened. I swear it!"

"What does it matter? The array is _there_! And you let it happen. You never really wanted to obliterate it, did you, even when I asked you to? And now you've brought it back!"

"Riza, please – _please_ listen to me. At least let me explain what happened, before you hate me. Please!"

"Why should I? When you've almost literally stabbed me in the back?"

"But that _wasn't what I wanted_." Roy pounded a frustrated fist against the doorjamb, and then pressed his forehead against it, closing his eyes.

Riza crossed her arms over her stomach, trying to hold in the rage. The last vestiges of dizziness had been completely overwhelmed by the adrenaline rushing through her. She literally shook with it. "I think I may already hate you," she hissed. "But fine. Tell me what happened."

"Don't you get what happens at the Gate?" he moaned. "The spirit, or consciousness, or whatever it is that seems to control the thing – it's capricious. That's why it took my sight in the first place, when I didn't even voluntarily go to the Gate that first time. So it wasn't just going to give me my eyes back because I needed them – it was going to exact a price. And I had to say yes or no right there – I couldn't possibly come back and ask you if you'd allow it, because I'd never have gotten to the Gate again. This was the last Philosopher's Stone, so I had no other choice. I had to take the risk and say yes, and then come back to ask you if you'd agree or not."

"And how," she demanded flatly, "how could you possibly imagine I would ever have agreed to such a thing?"

Roy swallowed and said quietly, "Because we had so much work we still wanted to do for this country. And I needed my sight, to do it. And this was the price of my sight." He lifted his head and, meeting her gaze, dropped his hand from the doorjamb and straightened to face her properly. "But I'm not presenting this to you as a _fait accompli_, Riza. I meant what I said – I _am_ asking you. Even if the array has been repaired, I can remove part of it again. I'm sure I can get Doctor Marcoh to give you something so it doesn't hurt nearly as much this time. I couldn't ask you in advance, but I'm asking you now: do you want me to get rid of the array again? Because I'm back, and I can act now. I will do it if you want me to."

Riza stared at him, searching his pale face. A high, thin wail cut through the air, interrupting her thoughts, and it rose in volume until she suddenly realized: "The kettle. I have to get that." She shoved past him, back down the hall and into the kitchen. She took the lid off the teapot and, grabbing a tea towel, lifted the kettle and poured the steaming, bubbling water into the pot.

For the merest instant she wondered what would happen if she lifted it over her head and poured the scalding liquid all down her back. She shuddered, setting the kettle back down and reaching to turn off the heat. But Roy had already done it.

Riza leaned one hand against the counter, buttoning her shirt closed with the other as the tea steeped. However angry she felt, she had to _think_. Never act on an emotional or any other sort of impulse – that was something she'd had to learn as a sniper in Ishbal. She had to remember that, and take control of herself. And there could be more going on here than Roy was telling her.

"Riza."

She closed her eyes in a spasm of grief at the tremble in his voice.

"Riza, please tell me what you want. I'm so sorry. If you want me to get rid of the array, let's do it now. Before I leave. I…I never wanted to hurt you like this."

"Wait," she muttered. "Just wait a minute."

"Why wait? I can tell you want this over with. I should never…just let me undo what I've done to you. Let's do it now. And maybe some day you'll forgive me."

Riza took a deep breath and turned to face him. "Tell me something else first, Roy, before I decide."

Incongruously, she almost laughed at the sudden wariness in his dark eyes. He'd probably already guessed what her question would be. They knew each other too well. He answered flatly, "There's nothing else to tell. Let's just do this."

"Nothing to tell – except what will happen to your sight if you burn the array off my back again."

His lips parted. He was going to try to lie, wasn't he? But it was too late, and she saw him recognize it. Roy's jaw tightened and he looked away. "That's between me and the Gate. It doesn't concern you."

Riza leaned back against the counter and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. "Don't be an idiot, Roy. Of course it concerns me. Because if you go blind again, General Armstrong will get you kicked out of the military, and it will become almost impossible to do the things we need to do for this country."

"We'll find another way. I won't sacrifice _you_ for my own ambition."

"It's not ambition. And you know I know that." Riza sighed, lowering her hands and gripped the counter on either side of her. She even managed a slight, weary smile. "All right, Roy. I see it now. You made the right choice at the Gate. Because you know what I'd have said if you had come back blind, and told me you'd refused, and why."

"Actually, I'd…never have told you, if I had chosen that way."

She finally allowed herself a laugh, as the anger seemed to drain from her. "Of course you wouldn't. But never mind that. Naturally it was a shock just now, finding out what had happened. But I think you were right. You did have to do this."

"I just – Riza, I _hate_ this!" Roy exclaimed with sudden vehemence. "Why does everything I do – even good things – have to produce another victim?"

"Just stop before you go any further. I'm not a victim," Riza told him firmly. "We've both done terrible things, and we're working together to try to repair them. We're _partners_, remember? So this," she jerked her chin toward her shoulder and back, "is the price we'll _both_ pay. Because it means we can keep working together toward our goal. I'll just…I'll just be really careful that nobody ever knows it's there or sees it. Not that there's anyone but me to see it," she added with a rueful laugh.

"I'll always know," Roy said solemnly. He stood for a moment and simply looked at her until she could no longer bear his gaze and had to lower her own. Damn the man – he could always do that to her! Maybe, she thought in private amusement, it wasn't such a good idea for him to get his sight back, after all. Then she sensed his movement and felt herself swept into his arms as he held her tightly, his cheek pressed against her hair. "Thank you. I'm sorry," he whispered.

"I know," she nodded, and pulled away while she still could. "Let's sit down and have our tea, all right? And we can have a good long talk about what to do next."

"Yes," Roy agreed, releasing her. "Let's make this worth it." And he took off his jacket, hanging it over the back of his chair, sitting down at the table to watch her pour his tea.


End file.
